Brotha Lynch Hung F- Mr Doctor Deep Down Lyrics

Deep Down Lyrics

[Brotha Lynch]

 Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why

 My locc's told me homie make them tapes

 And keep that 24 block alive

 But if I feel I'm in need, I got's to ride

 Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side

 Man it's the night-mare, creepin up in the cut

 I'm hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what

 The things I've seen'll make ya throw up

 Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank

 Where I'm from that's how ya grow up

 Man it's that wicked and 9 millimeter

 Carrier bein stereo-typed daily

 Ya got's to feel me, foo it's that baby

 Killas run around everyday that's why I'm strapped

 Ya heard it I got my own back-fade

 Out into the 'lac and hit the city of Sac

 Them homies given me that

 But you got them fools that want a foe then

 They wonderin why I'm carryin me a 12 gauge pump

 Man I ain't no punk

 The average everyday thug that's how it sounds

 I'm defendin myself, and loadin that mili

 And leaving em layin

 

 [Chorus] X 4

 Deep down, there's a place for hope

 

 [Mr. Doctor]

 I guess it's hard to explain why I'm feelin how I'm feelin

 I guess I'm feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin

 And foos would say that it's my fault I bet

 See cus I wasn't strapped yo, but I can't fuck my set

 How could I know that them foos would blast?

 Later on, on my folks

 It's funny how this bangin's got its different strokes

 I think about my loccs and how they made it

 Though I'm stressin from the fact

 They gotta suffer from a bullet hole

 And Mr. Doctor just don't have hope locc

 It's only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked

 And rivals is deep, up in my city foo

 Since I'm on the underground team, I can't have no peace

 My life is tore up so I guess I'm stuck

 Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I'm turnin it up

 To get drunk, then I post up on the street

 While I say to myself, for the block

 Homie rest in peace

 

 [Chorus] X 4

 

 [Brotha Lynch]

 They say that ain't the way to handle that type funk

 But now I'm loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt

 Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up

 What that mean, I can't ride?

 Why G's up in my face, I'm bout to help them ride

 I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0

 And lounge until it's time to go

 Shinin up the forty-fo

 Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo

 And hopin if I should die, before I'm high

 That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai

 I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and

 Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and

 I'm right up in the middle tryin to hang on and

 Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen

 But then again

 I'm down for when the homies is ready to roll em up

 You know, stick in a dark-blue cut

 And as I'm creepin through ya set

 Trip, don't get caught up, shot up

 The gardenblock locc's, man we leave em layin

 

 [Chorus] X 4